


Episode 24: Hope Is Pain

by PitoyaPTx



Series: Clan Meso'a [24]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Clan Meso'a, Gen, Learning to trust, Mandalorian, Mandalorian Culture, finding hope, learning from the pain, maybe we'll be friends, understanding someone's culture, wisdom of an ally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 19:04:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18817120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PitoyaPTx/pseuds/PitoyaPTx
Summary: "You never forget whom you know." ~Meso'a sayingCara and Tavut have their first real conversation since their dinner weeks ago. Jury is still out on whether or not they could ever be friends.





	Episode 24: Hope Is Pain

**Author's Note:**

> choxul -spirit  
> choxultz -spiritual strength  
> dar'choxul -something that harms or diminishes your choxultz in any way  
> Ra'naal'nas -you know us, lit. you see us

A long time ago it may have been a circular cutout in the wall so occupants could see the street from the patio, but it had since worn away into a u-shaped notch just big enough for Cara to sit in it. She idly twisted the end of a braid around her finger, watching tribesmen and women rush about the streets with boxes of decorations, trays of foods, or cranky children tucked under their arms. The smell of smoked meats and freshly baked breads was now overwhelming in an almost nostalgic way. It was comforting, hopeful, and buffeted the dark whispers of depression trying their best to overtake her mind. If she focussed on picking out the fruity scents of jams and pastries from the spicier tones of Ka’hast or malle’nuul, she could stave off the sadness in bursts. Her hunger was another beast, but she knew whatever Aviila had planned for dinner would satiate her tenfold. Already, she’d found her favorite dish in a creamed grain stew with chunks of boiled meats in a gravy broth bland enough that she could add as much salt or peppers to as she desired. She licked her lips absently, tasting the savory mixture and a fresh mug of Ka’hast dancing across her tongue.  
Every so often, Cara’s head would twitch to the side and she would grimace, but on the whole she sat as still as possible. Tavu made quick work of her hair, though, knowing that making her first festival a good experience was paramount to her transition...should she decide to do so. He was well aware that she hadn’t yet, and felt it would be a poor gift to Aviila if he was the reason Cara left them. When he wasn’t making poor jokes about Basic or talking in general, Cara found Tavut’s company not as vexing as their first dinner had been. It wasn’t fair of her to feel that way, and honestly it came from a place of distrust and not so much dislike for his character. Letting him braid her hair made her feel vulnerable, but after her time at the fountain she wasn’t ready for anymore of Jecho’s “lessons”. So far, Tavut only muttered here in there Soah-ra when he wanted her to turn her head or stop fidgeting so much. She couldn’t help it. She felt gutted, confused; she felt as though nothing made sense and everything hurt.  
“Done,” Tavut sighed, pulling himself up onto the top of the wall and stretching.  
In the dying late of late afternoon, his green skin was tinged with orange and his black hair had a slight shine to it. She didn’t know what went into his cosmetic preparations for the festivals, but given everything she’d learned about the Clan so far, there was no doubt some traditional something-or-other he’d have to wear. She pulled the two braids down across her chest, the ends of which were almost as low as her navel despite Tavut beginning near her hairline.To complete the look, he’d given her an orange headband with teal chevrons to tie across her forehead, covering where hair met skin. He’d also handed her a set of gold-disk earrings that looked like small suns, although nothing like the twin suns of Tatooine she’d grown up with. She turned them in her hand, noting the tool marks and spacing between the rays of the fabricated stars. The gold seemed too bright, too hopeful compared to the day she just had. Nothing made sense, not that it had since she’d arrived.. She swallowed. She wanted to speak, but she wasn’t comfortable saying these things to Tavut or really anyone. Maybe Aviila, but she hadn’t seen her yet today.  
Tavut was sitting with one leg over the wall and the other bent, his arm draped across his knee. He was looking out across the horizon to the west where the sun sank into the western sea, the furs of his pectoral dancing in the slight breeze. His features were largely blank, but Cara could tell he was thinking about something. She steeled herself, knowing that if she didn’t talk she might burst, but that it had to be the right words. Not everyone had to know how she was feeling, but if she didn’t say something she might say the wrong thing. At least, that’s what she told herself when she said:  
“Tavut, when did Fiyn die?”  
He blinked and looked down at her, turning his emerald eyes on her own, “Lady Fiyn?” he repeated as if he hadn’t heard the words before.  
She nodded. He scratched his temple.  
“Mm… you know numbers? Mando’a?” he asked.  
She nodded, but he could see her uncertainty.  
“Mm,” he hummed again, “Large number. Too big for….,” he trailed off but held up both hands and moved them apart as if to denote something large, “Too many words you cannot say.”  
“I wouldn’t understand if you said them?” she guessed.  
“Yes.”  
“Can you try?”  
He scratched his temple again. The puzzled look on his face was nothing like the devious grin he’d had when he tricked her into saying “di’kut” only a few weeks ago. Since then he’d been much more careful how he talked to her. Maybe Aviila had scolded him or maybe he was only acting out of social anxiety, his behaviour merely a nervous outburst. Either way, she preferred this more reserved and thoughtful Tavut. She herself was reserved and quite frankly wasn’t in the mood for jokes. She wanted truths and words to ease the pain driving nails into her chest each time she breathed. She wanted closure, but every story she’d heard so far was that of pain and suffering.  
“Vin’alor Fiyn...Lady Fiyn,” he moved his mouth up and down as if trying to chew the words into existence, but, “Many thousand,” was all he could manage.  
Cara’s eyes grew wide, “Thousands of years ago?”  
He nodded, then tilted his head quizzically, “This is wrong?”  
“Wrong!?” she threw up her hands. How would that be wrong? She didn’t know these things. She was the one learning, the one who needed to be taught, the one who… she paused, his meaning dawning on her. The absurdity of it all almost made her laugh as for a split second, she forgot his limited understand of Basic.  
“No, it’s not bad,” she said, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, “I..I’m sorry, Tavut, I forgot...never mind,” she waved the thought away, “Has it really been thousands of years?”  
“Yes,” he said, now straddling the wall so he could face her, “Long time of pain. We can’t unlearn.”  
“You can’t forget?”  
“Yes.”  
“Why?”  
He frowned, “You’d unlearn? You’d forget her?”  
She shook her head vigorously, “No, Tavut, I didn’t mean offence!”  
“You would not forget pain,” he continued, his eyes narrowed, “We lose and lose and lose and mando’ade, our vode, forget us. But they lose us!” He asserted, jamming his thumb against his chest, “Could you lose us? Ra’naal’nas!”  
Cara bit her lip, the same prickling discomfort from earlier was gnawing on her shoulders. His tone was harsh, harsh like Weiyn’s, and she felt her eyes begin to mist. She held her lips together as tight as she could to hold back the sob trying to force itself out of her.  
Tavut’s hand dropped from his chest and he flinched at the sounds caught in Cara’s throat. He looked around, frightened.  
“I did this?” It was less a question and more an apology, “Carah-”  
“No no,” she waved him away, her eyes engulfed in tears, “You’re fine.”  
In truth, he was, but he didn’t know that. He was still looking around, not sure what to do, but soon he was forced to. Cara hopped off the wall into the patio and sank to the ground, thrusting her palms against her face. Tavut followed quickly, sitting down beside her and gesturing as only mando’a and Soah-ra came to mind. Cara could hear jumbles of words, some she knew, others she didn’t. Tavut didn’t seem prepared to deal with her crying, and she was self aware enough to know that, but how could he just sit there and stammer? Unbeknownst to her, Tavut was thinking the same thing. Words failing him, he put his arms around her and hugged her against his side, resting his head atop hers. The smell of sweat and face paint mixed together in a way that was suffocating, but in that moment Cara wasn’t thinking about anything. In fact she was so startled by his gesture that for a moment her face felt hot and her stomach twisted into knots. The moment passed, but her sobbing turned to a slow leaking of tears much like a busted spicket.  
Aviila paused in the doorway of the patio the moment she spotted the pair sitting under the wall in the shade, their figures illuminated by the yellow light from the lamps. Tavut was saying something she couldn’t quite hear and Cara was responding. She slowly backed away, smiling slightly, and returned to the kitchen. They’d grow hungry soon enough and come looking for her when they’re ready.  
“When you hurt, you have to speak, you have to tell someone,” he said after a while, “We do not lose our pain. We talk of it or we forget it. We forget why we are Meso’a, why we are Enad.”  
“What’s happened to you, it’s who you are,” Cara summarized, now hugging her knees to her chest.  
Tavut sat cross-legged beside her, picking at the blades of grass poking up between the stone plates of the patio. He watched her from the corner of his eye. She was so small. He didn’t want to tell her this, but he thought it. She was small in height, especially compared to him as she was barely higher than his breastbone, but she was tall in choxul. He could see it, he could feel it in her words. She was in pain, he thought, great pain she learned and can’t forget. Here she was, taking on his clan’s pain without breaking. Bending, maybe, but not breaking. She was talking, learning, doing.  
“We should eat,” she pushed herself to her feet and brushed the dust and dirt from her dress. She turned back to him, her eyes still moist and rippling with pain like pebbles tossed into a puddle, no, a lake. Her choxul ran deeper than a puddle. She put out her hand for him, but he shook his head.  
“Too heavy,” he smiled as he got up.  
She nodded and moved aside so his pauldron didn’t bump her out of the way.  
Cara didn’t mention what they spoke about around the fountain. Aviila didn’t press either, assuming it was just another lesson about life on Meso’kaan. After her conversation with Tavut, I guess Aviila was right. Her limited knowledge was just enough for Cara to understand that life on Meso’kaan was a delicate balance between pain and hope. Both were linked together in that they had pain because of their hope, first in Rahast, then in Kad, and then in other Mandalorians. Yet Cara could tell their hope hadn’t waivered. It was small, maybe masked under rituals and traditional mantra, but it was still there and she knew this because of people like Jecho who found a life on Meso’kaan despite whatever pain they came here with. Maybe there was hope for her, Cara thought. Maybe living here would help her deal with her own pain, help her find her hope.


End file.
